


The Kindest Cut

by irrationalno



Category: Lupin III
Genre: M/M, another terrible pun-ny title, brazenly inserted headcanon for past occupation, f for fundoshi, gratuitous lupin, other past relationship mention, why is there almost nothing for this ship yo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9812648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalno/pseuds/irrationalno
Summary: Jigen has skills. Skills he likes to use on Goemon.





	

 

Jigen awoke to the sound of Lupin humming. The tune was familiar but he couldn’t remember the name of the song, and when he sat up he could see that Lupin had settled down to work. The desk they’d set up in the back veranda was flooded with sunlight and painting materials. A laptop was open, the screen angled against the light, but Lupin was bent over a sheet of parchment, barely moving a tiny brush over the surface. Jigen frowned.

It had to be around ten in the morning. He’d returned to their current hideout the night before, much the worse for wear after 30 hours on almost zero sleep. He’d raided the kitchen fridge, moved on to the minibar in his room. No luck. Takeout, then.

He hadn’t even unwrapped his cheeseburger when Goemon had walked in, complaining about the view in his room. _The view?_ Yes, the view.

Fuck. Jigen quickly sat up. His shirt was damp at the collar and armpits. It was already summer, and summer tended to make him extra irritable.

“When did you get back?”

Lupin paused, brush hovering above the delicate-looking paper. After a moment, he executed a confident flourish. Then he heaved a theatrical sigh. “Ahh, Jigen-chan, I don’t even know what day of the week it is! _And_ I’m absolutely starving...”

Jigen rolled his eyes, under cover of the hat. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Lupin had actually done some shopping—the fridge was restocked, shelves almost stuffed with new purchases. Meat, eggs, sausages, butter, cheese. The sight did wonders for his mood. There was some stuff in the vegetable drawer, too, but who cared?

Although he did like tomatoes.

Briefly he considered going to wake Goemon up. Since he _was_ making breakfast.

_Fuck._

Lupin had moved to the table closer to the courtyard. Jigen set down a tray of food and then dumped about half the contents of the frying pan onto Lupin’s plate. Lupin’s eyes brightened: the omelettes were practically oozing with semi-melted cheese.

“You’re an angel, you know that, right?”

“And you’re making lunch,” said Jigen, sitting down to his own breakfast. “Guess the letter writing’s going okay.”

“Excuse you,” said Lupin through a mouthful of omelette. “I’m a world-renowned, expert forger. Of course it’s going okay. No, it’s going _great_. Got some new calling cards printed out too.”

Jigen nodded along as Lupin babbled happily about orthographic quirks, scandalous affairs between 17th century pianists, and the older lady who’d spoken to him during his recon trip at the local music shop. It was a welcome distraction from something that was on his mind. Well, several things were on his mind, but one particular thing was dangling like the proverbial sword above his head, and he simply didn’t know where to start dealing with it.

“I know I make a _very_ handsome older gentleman, but I don’t think I’ve ever been complimented so openly on my fingers before!” Saying this, he wiggled them in front of Jigen, making frantic earthworm shapes, then just obscene ones.

“No, really?” drawled Jigen. But he had to laugh. Lupin was playing air piano, face screwed up in a parody of a passionate concert soloist.

“Good morning Lupin. Jigen.”

“Aha, there you are, and you look well rested. Join us?” Lupin waved him over, kicking a chair out for Goemon to sit on. Jigen, who’d parked his feet on the chair, hissed in sudden pain. “Sorry, sorry!”

Goemon’s eyes turned to Jigen, then smoothly away. “I’m not hungry.” He only spared a single baleful glance for the cheesy, eggy, tomatoey explosion on their plates. Jigen leaned across and lifted a large steel cover, revealing a bowl of rice, two whole eggs, and another bowl with avocado and natto.

Lupin looked at Jigen, then at Goemon. Goemon wore a simple grey yukata, and was holding a grey, old-looking towel. “No plans for today?”

“Not as such. I’d like to read and meditate. Perhaps go for a swim. Do you need me to do anything?”

Lupin reached up to ruffle his hair. “Oh, this one’s too much! No, no, take the whole day off.” Goemon sat still as Lupin petted his head, but Jigen could see that the ronin wore a small smile. “Whoa, your hair’s gotten really long.”

“Ah, speaking of which…” Goemon looked at Jigen. “You promised.”

“Oh, true. Sure. When do ya want it?” Jigen started on the prosecco he’d been thinking about saving for lunch.

“Now? Soon?” A beat. “Thank you, again.”

“Am I interrupting?” said Lupin, unfazed. “I know, I know it’s only a haircut. Just kidding. Goemon-chan, have you ever considered… keeping it long?”

Goemon tugged at a hank of hair above his forehead. It looked soft, silky. “No.”

Jigen cleared the plates away, not waiting for Lupin.

The sun had crawled farther up in the sky when he found himself kneeling up behind Goemon, armed with his tools of the trade. There was barely a breeze, so there wouldn’t be a mess. Plus what was left of the wine. Goemon was sitting on the porch, arrayed with old towel and plastic. Lupin had commandeered the sofa with his laptop and a huge mug of coffee. He’d also turned on the vintage radio they’d found in the house when they moved in.

“The usual?”

Goemon nodded.

There was no rational reason for Jigen to get flustered. He had cut Goemon’s hair a few times before, to Goemon’s satisfaction. Hell, he’d done this _professionally_ before. Ish. At one point. In a different life.

Above all, Goemon was playing it cool, exactly as Jigen had known he would. But laying hands on Goemon’s hair like this, in broad daylight, he could feel some control slipping. His fingers slid through the sun-warmed strands, stroking leisurely at the scalp. Goemon tilted his head back, leaning into the touch.

The radio was playing something classical, with lots of flutes, and Jigen was supposed to give Goemon a trim, not a head massage. That was what he’d promised.

Kinda reminded him how he’d _promised_ to help Goemon move the giant, ugly cabinet that was blocking the window in his room, last night, but ended up giving him a handjob instead. Lupin had told them not to destroy any of the antique furniture on the property, or Goemon would have sliced through it. As it happened, the cabinet was still standing proud, having been moved only halfway to the door, and Jigen couldn’t remember who’d made the first move.

They’d both been sober, though. He distinctly remembered that.

“Jigen...”

“Shit,” said Jigen. He’d been holding a piece of hair in place, scissors angled and poised to cut.

Funny, but he’d wondered about Goemon’s hair for a while, after he’d first started working with Lupin. There was all the talk about constant training and meditation, his limited wardrobe, and the general air of stoicism. With longer acquaintance, though, you also got hidden glimpses of… vanity, sure. Sensualism, too. Jigen could see it in the layered cut, the way the hair coiled and framed his face. The way Goemon would touch his hair unconsciously, his little mannerisms.

After the next cut, he stole another swig of wine.

So he’d been paying attention, and he liked what he saw. It was tempting to compare with what he felt—what he’d felt about Lupin. With Lupin everything had fallen into place easily, and even the falling out had barely hurt. He hadn’t been so young when he’d started with Lupin, even older when they drifted back to friendship. And just as Lupin had made it obvious he’d never give up on Fujiko, Jigen had made it obvious he would never accept an open relationship or a triangle or whatever they were calling it these days. They were lucky to be able to move on and still get along, he knew. Jigen _especially_ knew, given what most of his previous exes were like.

Jigen had no idea what to do with this newer development. How many times had he lounged on a car, on a sandy beach, on the roof of a skyscraper, just watching Goemon? Always from a distance, though. He had that much respect. And self-restraint. The thing was, he paid attention, and he liked what he saw. He’d been content to leave it like that. It helped that Goemon was good at his job, but not so good with figuring out something this subtle. And Jigen could admit to himself, sometimes, that getting older really had taken off some of the edge…

The old towel they’d laid on the porch was now covered with patches of black hair. He still had to do the front, the prosecco was gone, and his knees were twin dull aches. “Time out. Don’t move.”

Goemon immediately turned around to look at him. He was squinting from the sunlight. “You should use a cushion.”

“What for?” Jigen regretted the snippy tone as soon as the words were out, but Goemon rolled his eyes. “I’m getting a drink.”

He was going to stomp all the way to the kitchen, but a long monkey arm was in the way, fingers wriggling again. “Get me a drink too, Jigen-chan,” said Lupin, typing furiously away at the keyboard with one hand.

“You were eavesdropping? Get your own drink,” said Jigen. He stood for a long moment with the fridge door open, enjoying the cold air on his skin. Goemon’s hands had been cold. Jigen had let out an undignified yelp when they closed over his hips. They’d warmed up very fast, though, as the not-very-fun fundoshi was removed, and then he’d had the velvety weight of Goemon’s dick in his own blessed hands.

Jigen grabbed three cans of beer from the fridge, and put one down on the coffee table, ignoring Lupin’s still outstretched hand. “You’re making lunch _and_ dinner.”

“I’m going out for dinner,” said Lupin, sticking his head out over the arm of the sofa. He was grinning, evidently pleased with himself for some new, profound reason. Jigen shook his head, biting back a smile. “You lovebirds get the house to yourselves.”

“ _Lupin_. Jesus.”

But he’d already turned back to the laptop screen. “Just Lupin, thanks. I like to think I didn’t fuck you up that badly, you know?”

“Lupin, shut up.”

“And Goemon isn’t as naïve as you think.”

“Jigen?” called Goemon from the porch.

His ears were pounding with blood. He needed to calm down, and fast.

“Don’t botch it up,” said Lupin, closing the laptop shut. “I mean the haircut.”

“How dare you,” said Jigen, but he knew he didn’t have the energy to fight. Not right now. Lupin left, laptop and cord and beer in tow, still grinning.

Fucking fuck.

He had to look at Goemon now, to finish the haircut. Goemon seemed not to have heard Lupin’s words, at least, from where he was sitting. _Thank God for small mercies_ , thought Jigen. Taking a deep breath, Jigen sectioned the main body of the hair away from Goemon’s head, tucking some of the longer hair behind his ears. He drew most of the hair into a ponytail with an elastic tie. Then he combed the fringe down from the top of Goemon’s head, noting how it fell into his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s grown out a lot.”

“I ought to trim every week or so,” said Goemon. “But I don’t.”

“Why? You’re not so bad with a blade,” said Jigen, picking up his shears.

Goemon was glaring through the curtain of hair, but his expression softened when Jigen held up a piece loosely between his forefinger and his middle finger.

“You have more… experience.”

Jigen sucked in a breath. _No way_. “Eh, it’s fine. Don’t mind doing it for you.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

 _Idiot_ , thought Jigen with a burst of affection. “Not a problem. So… You’ve always worn your hair this way.”

“I had shorter hair when I started out.” _As an adult? As a professional assassin? Heh_.

Jigen was point cutting the section he’d isolated, eyes focused on his task. “Well, this is good. Works for ya.”

“Thank you,” said Goemon.

Damn it, Jigen wanted to kiss him. He’d wanted to last night, lying beside Goemon on Goemon’s crumpled bed, but the desire had gotten stuck in queue behind the dozen or more other things he wanted equally badly, all at once, and he knew why.

He was scared. Not of rejection, not really. Nor the fastidious, orthodox quality that drove him nuts sometimes.

Goemon could be _intense_ , and Jigen had a feeling that a relationship with him would be… a lot to handle. He couldn’t imagine Goemon doing casual, and he knew that he didn’t want that anyway. The idea, once formed, was exciting. He’d gone back to his room on shaky legs and collapsed on his own bed to bring himself off. He’d made sounds that he didn’t know his larynx was capable of producing.

He cut more hair. Tiny, steady cuts, so the inky hair would sit and move naturally. Doing this for Goemon was a nice dose of nostalgia every time, the quiet pleasure and artistry of the act. But today it was hard to think of anything else.

When it was done, he pushed back to sit on his haunches, slowly removing the towel so the hairs wouldn’t fall on the ground. Goemon looked up, instinctively sweeping his fringe to one side, and started to brush himself down. “Is there a mirror?”

“Here,” said Jigen, retrieving one from his case. Instead of getting up off his behind and leaving Goemon to admire his handiwork, he opened the beer. It was warm and disgusting, and he swore, spitting out his mouthful on the grass. Goemon turned his head this way and that, then nodded.

“This will do. Thank you, Jigen.”

“You already thanked me.”

Goemon looked at him. “Oh.”

“It’s almost lunchtime,” said Jigen, closing the case and getting to his feet. It wasn’t lunchtime, they’d had breakfast not two hours ago, but those were the words that came out. As he walked, the breeze picked up, making him shiver.

Jigen stopped, and realised it wasn’t the breeze picking up. Goemon was standing up, too, and as Zantetsuken was snapped back into its sheath, Jigen felt more than saw his own clothes gently flutter to the grass to rest in pieces.

“I—” Jigen started. “I can’t believe you actually did that, you—” But then his head hit the lawn, and Goemon was on top of his body, pinning him in place with his knees.

“We can have lunch later,” said Goemon, kissing up his neck as Jigen fumbled to get his hands inside Goemon’s yukata, which was already gaping open _everywhere_. Meanwhile, the flutes had given way to hundreds of squealing violins, and overgrown grass was poking his butt and tickling his sides. And his jaw. Or, no, that was the damn fringe. “Lupin won’t be back until tomorrow. And… we have unfinished business.”

“You’re fucking scary,” said Jigen, and his breath hitched on a moan. No fundoshi this time. “Fuck.”

“Yes,” said Goemon. “Fuck.” Then Goemon was kissing him on the mouth and Jigen was kissing him back.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> another plotless lil thang. i love these dorks. i might write more in this 'verse??


End file.
